


Tenderness and Duty

by Julia_Five_O_Clock, zaboraviti



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Bathtubs, Christmas, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Vicbourne Advent Calendar 2017, Vignette, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-13 22:31:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12993921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julia_Five_O_Clock/pseuds/Julia_Five_O_Clock, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaboraviti/pseuds/zaboraviti
Summary: It's Christmas of 1839 and William Lamb, 2nd Viscount of Melbourne, is not feeling very festive in London. He longs for the simple pleasures of Brocket Hall - the peace and quiet of the snow-covered countryside, a hot bath, some wine... and who knows what else the holiday season might bring?





	Tenderness and Duty

**Author's Note:**

> My translation of a sweet smutty vignette by the Russian author Julia Five O'Clock for the Vicbourne Advent Calendar 2017 of [the Facebook Vicbourne group](https://www.facebook.com/groups/403553326682914/).

[© Julia Five O'Clock](https://vk.com/yuliamakarenko2016)

 

In the last days of December that stretched unbearably slowly into even slower nights, Melbourne ever so often caught himself thinking cowardly about fleeing to Brocket Hall. Away from London, away from the endless procession of state affairs, from the ever-grumbling loud-mouthed Tories in the Parliament, from the perfunctory, boring receptions at Buckingham Palace, from the relentlessly approaching wedding day set for February 10. And if he was honest with himself — away from the culprit of all this mess, his little queen, the betrothed of Prince Francis Albert Augustus Charles Emmanuel of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha and her cousin to boot. Melbourne was physically sick of seeing her searching worried gaze that had been following him every morning since the engagement. She instinctively sought his approval, as if still questioning the choice she had made on that October night.   
  
The sense of accomplishment for having done his duty to England, his Queen and his party failed to dull the pain throbbing in the still smoldering heart or to calm the mind tortured by many worries. He had to take a break, immediately, or… his vaunted long-standing restraint would crack and he would break… like a clockwork toy.  
  
As soon as the opportunity presented itself, Melbourne attended the formal reception at the Palace, handed his Christmas present that was rather impersonal and devoid of any secret subtext, just as the occasion required, to the Queen, and finally left the capital city.  
  
The ache spread in waves, squeezing the scalp under the luscious curls and slightly vexing their owner, who had anticipated the long-wished for rest on his first day back in Brocket Hall but was plagued with work instead. Melbourne signed the most urgent papers he had brought from London, looked through the pile of documents once more, and put the pen aside. His eyelids were heavy as lead and he suddenly felt like rising from his desk and stretching his entire body until the joints cracked. He stepped to the window, staring into the white silence outside, into the blankness of the snowy landscape drowning in the soft purple shadows of the December twilight. The order given to the ever-efficient Hopkins was short and unequivocal — a hot fragrant herbal tea bath, right away, and a full decanter of excellent port!  
  
The copper bathtub bubbled over with the hot and cold water that was poured in alternately; the scent of the housekeeper’s trademark herbal tear pleasantly tickled the aristocratic nose. Two sturdy footmen furtively wiped sweat off their brows, breathing heavily — such a speedy delivery of six buckets of water to the master bedchamber was no laughing matter. Hopkins’s dexterous hands were laying out fresh underwear, towels and finest sheets of Egyptian cotton on the bench. The viscount’s favorite silk dressing gown embroidered with elaborate Oriental patterns was thrown neatly over the back of the armchair by the fireplace.  
  
The peace and comfort of the inhabitant of the luxurious bedchamber did not require further presence of other people. A bar of splendid soap and a natural sponge lay in the fanciful seashell, an old gift from some foreign princeling. The crystal glass on the table beckoned him with its sparkling ruby contents. And the hot fragrant bath with a sheet spread along the bottom finally welcomed the viscount’s lean body into its embrace. He closed his eyes with pleasure, tuning to the wave of the mind-cleansing warmth, letting go of his concerns, rolling the first viscous sip of port in his mouth…  
  
Small warm hands barely touched the nape of his neck and smoothly fell lower, moving slowly towards his stiff neck. Pressing lightly on his scalp, the fingers began to massage the still delicate area in circular motions. Soft uneven breathing next to his ear gave her away, for there was only one woman in the world who could be so tender and so determined at once — his Victoria. William swallowed, noisily pulling air in through his nostrils, as the deft hands moved a little lower, covering the spots where the neck met the shoulders. The heaven-sent touch grew more and more exciting and healing — his headache was receding… Victoria tried to press harder with the heel of her hand, going from the neck down to her husband’s broad shoulders but she clearly overrated her own strength and the solidity of his muscles. She giggled sheepishly and, abandoning her plan completely, nuzzled into his shoulder, leaving a light kiss on the pink skin. He did not expect this almost virginal and ghostly kiss to resonate in his body so violently, arousing desires and instincts that were far from innocent. The former Prime Minister of England gasped somewhat dramatically, masking his embarrassment, and dropped the sheet hanging from the sides of the bathtub onto his lap. To her own surprise, she blushed in response and moved to rise from the carpet and stand upright, grabbing the edge of the tub. She thought it appropriate to leave him alone for now, finding herself not quite ready to discuss the events of the previous night, but his firm elegant fingers had already caught hers and brought them to his mouth. He kissed the secret spot on the palm of her hand, near the wrist, and the corner of his thin lips curved in a smile. It was only a drop of his gratitude to his good Samaritan for the miraculous release from the pain that often paralyzed the back of his head and neck after hours of poring over damned papers. Then he glanced with the familiar squint at her girlishly flushed face, and pulled her closer with both hands, practically seating Victoria on the edge of the tub that was two thirds full.  
  
“Have you come to apologize for the last night, my little jealous donna?” he said, deliberately drawling every word and delightedly looking forward to her reaction. She instantly turned scarlet with resentment and proudly jerked up her chin.  
  
“I will do no such thing, Lord M! Your love for Mozart is no excuse to cling to the Italian diva like a limpet all night. And to turn pages for her with your own hand,” Victoria snorted in frustration, the private musical evening featuring the foreign celebrity all too vivid in her mind. “Oh, and all this French babbling, ‘You ‘ave such a marvelous sophisticated taste, milord! What a connoisseur of music you are!’... it was driving me insane! And how brazen of her to stare at you like this once I turned to Lady Anglesey for a minute!”  
  
“I dare say, ma’am, it did not stop you from giving Signora Giovannini a murderous look and say a few sharp words to her as she was leaving. I am rather afraid the poor woman will lose her voice after the last night’s performance. To think that the London audience has wasted their money on the tickets for the entire next week.”  
  
Still overwhelmed and distracted by the surge of emotions, Victoria did not notice Melbourne rising slightly from the water, one of his hands confidently grasping her waist, the other lightly touching her shoulder blades. And before the young woman could blink, she found herself prostrated facedown on his lap, desperately kicking up her legs.  
  
“I have been struggling since this morning with the urge to catch you and give you a good spanking for the behavior unbecoming of a queen and my little wise wife,” he threatened with mock sternness.   
  
Taken aback, Victoria barely squealed in response when William put his broad palm on the delicious silk-covered swell that dangled at his eye level, as though measuring the force and distance…  
  
“You wouldn’t dare!” Victoria let out a strangled shriek, nevertheless not even trying to break free from his strong hands. “I am not merely your wife and a woman, I am the Queen!”  
  
“No, right now you are my prey,” he growled into the dark nape of her neck, his grip still as firm, and an odd mixture of fear and excitement bubbled up in her blood, pushing her towards a new sensation.   
  
“Ah!” she gasped in disappointment, when, chuckling unabashedly, her husband planted her feet back on the precious Aubusson rug — having foregone his threat.  
  
An intriguing, inviting silence took over the half-lit room… They no longer needed words, the anticipation of intimacy and scorching desire flooding every cell in their bodies. Melbourne cupped the back of her head, gently but urgently seized the lips that longed for his kisses. Accompanied by his wife’s ragged breathing and gasps, his touch grew increasingly insistent, betraying the passion and overwhelming tenderness roused by the Queen’s unexpected appearance in his bedchamber. Enchanted by this delightful closeness, Victoria could not help tear her admiring gaze and caressing hands off Melbourne’s toned body… She craved these sensations, this new experience, she was ready and willing to surrender without a shadow of doubt or fear, for it was her beloved husband and mentor of many years, her Lord M, who would guide her through the marvelous world of sensual pleasures.  
  
“We have flooded your bedchamber,” Victoria whispered perplexedly a little later, ignoring her hair that had lost all but two of pins that had held it together. “I am afraid I will need your help, William! My dress is hopelessly wet…” she murmured, drowning, melting, fading away, and averting her gaze shyly from his green eyes gleaming with endless love and adoration. His fingertips tucked a wet strand of hair carefully behind her pink ear.  
  
“I do not think you will have much need for it tonight, ma’am,” his voice was a little hoarse from the heavenly bliss that she had given him for the first time, so unexpectedly and so bravely. In the two fleeting months since their wedding, their relationship reached such depths of mutual trust and closeness that he had not dared expect and never felt in the many years of his marriage to Caro.  
  
Once his breath had steadied after the intoxicating intimacy, he managed to get out of his now irretrievably cold bath in one swift motion and, without hesitation or much patience, began to undo the tiny secret buttons and untie the lace of her stays. He reached for the fluffy towel, modestly turning his back to Victoria, and promptly blotted the drops of water off his middle-aged but still strong body. The display of his return affection for his young august wife would know no bounds or prohibitions tonight…  
  
Later they moved to the drawing room adjoining to the master bedchamber of Brocket Hall and made themselves comfortable on the thick rug by the fireplace to dry properly and enjoy the quiet moments together. The cream muslin of his shirt clung to Victoria’s damp skin, its lace frills showing between the wide lapels of Melbourne’s silk dressing gown. She fought for and won that particular article of leisurewear with fierce determination and imperiousness, and wrapped the tasseled sash twice around her narrow waist. She had always wanted to try it on, and now, turning up the loose sleeves, she sniffed at the smooth fabric, basking in her husband’s scent mixed with the smell of his cologne and... brandy. The sleeves kept falling back down, getting in the way as she reached for nuts and fruits in the bowl. The decanter with the port that pleasantly warmed their bodies and exhilarated their souls was half-empty. The tiered silver stand with sweets had also experienced repeated invasion of the small fingers. Lord M, the Queen’s lawfully wedded husband and private secretary, sat behind her cross-legged, his chest against her back, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. His still damp hair sticking up on the top of his head, in cashmere trousers outlining his muscular legs and a white shirt with the top button undone, he looked so much younger than he really was. With a contented sigh, the Queen rested the back of her head on his shoulder… just like she had dreamed of doing since their first meeting.  
  
Victoria lost no time enjoying the rare hours carved out of the very tight schedule of royal appointments that allowed them to spend Christmas in her husband’s beloved Hertfordshire estate, away from the busy capital of their kingdom. Tomorrow she would return to her duties, but for now, she could afford the luxury of having a little too much of the ruby red port, staring in utter fascination at the dancing flames in the fireplace, laughing at her husband’s complaints about the lightness of their substitute for dinner now that he really needed an actual dinner.  
  
They wanted to be all alone that night and enjoy each other… Melbourne was correct in presuming that his faithful valet Hopkins and the sagacious chief lady-in-waiting Lady Portman would shield the Queen and her noble husband from any irksome attention and state affairs until the nightfall…

 ***********************************************************************************************************************************

A gentle rapping on the door and a faint groan of the wood pried his eyelids open.

“A courier from Buckingham Palace, milord!” Hopkins announced, somewhat embarrassed to have interrupted his master’s ablutions. “With a personal message from Her Majesty.” A footman stepped from behind the valet’s back, his outstretched hand offering the graceful powder-blue envelope on a silver salver. “He is to wait for your reply. Do you wish to get dressed, milord?”

Melbourne looked around in a daze and, shaking off the ghost of the sweet and amazingly vivid mirage, resolutely stepped out of the cooling bath and into the snow-white sheet his obliging valet held up in front of him.


End file.
